


Just Breakfast

by Lady_in_Red



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Ficlet, Humor, Morning After, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 07:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4383209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne makes good on her offer to cook Jaime breakfast.</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1626671">Not Interested</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Miss M for pointing out that little 3-arm problem.
> 
> This fic can be read as a standalone, but it will make more sense if you've read the first fic linked above.

The aroma of coffee rouses Jaime from the warm embrace of sleep. He rolls over, peers blearily at his clock. 6:25 a.m.

Jaime yawns and flops onto his back, stretching. The sheets beside him are warm but empty. Disappointing, but not unexpected. Her restaurant opens in five minutes. At least she made coffee before she left. 

He burrows back into the blankets, trying to hold on to last night a little while longer. Tyrion would laugh and say that Jaime only feels like this because it’s been too long since he had a woman in his bed. Tyrion can’t appreciate just how sweet it was for Jaime to watch Brienne, flushed and panting and glorious, lose control.

Jaime dozes, adrift in pleasant memories, until two things force him out of bed. First, he really needs to piss. And second, the smell in his apartment has changed. The coffee has been joined by a heady mix of smoky bacon and caramelized sugar. 

Maybe Brienne didn’t leave. 

Jaime gets up and swiftly uses the bathroom. The mirror shows him that he is grinning just as stupidly as he assumed, and that she left at least one mark on his neck that won’t be hidden under his collar come Monday morning. As he brushes his teeth, he notices that his toothpaste is not where he left it in the cupboard. Jaime wasn’t prepared for Brienne sleeping over, didn’t dare presume that she might. That seemed like tempting fate. He should buy a spare toothbrush. Tyrion probably keeps spare toothbrushes. 

Back in the bedroom, Jaime pulls on a pair of soft fleece pants and pads out into the hall. 

Brienne is standing in the kitchen, blonde hair still wild from sleep, wearing his bathrobe. She’s at the stove, wielding a spatula and keeping an eye on a simmering pot. Brienne is at ease here, relaxed as she almost never is when they are out in public. He sees the looks they get too, doesn’t care what others think as long as they keep their mouths shut. 

Brienne picks up a spoon and dips it into the pot to taste whatever is cooking there. Her soft, pleased little moan is exactly the same sound she made when Jaime ran his tongue up her inner thigh hours ago. That thought has him half-hard and weighing which he’s hungrier for: breakfast or Brienne. 

Four months after they met in a King’s Gate bar, Jaime still can’t explain why she caught his eye. There is nothing pretty about Brienne. Tyrion pointed that out to him, several times, on their way home that night. She’s taller than Jaime, just as broad in the chest and shoulders, with little in the way of breasts. Her arms are more defined than his, and she’s positively covered in freckles. None of that stopped Jaime from giving her his phone number and hoping that she’d call. 

Jaime hadn’t lied when they met. He truly had only come over to commiserate and maybe talk for a while. It would have gotten Tyrion off his back for a few weeks, at least. 

But by the time Brienne walked out, seething at how he’d dismissed her work, Jaime wanted to see her again. Brienne had quite possibly the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen, and a wide, full-lipped mouth with a smile that lit up her entire face when he’d teased it out of her. She hadn’t flirted, hadn’t thrown herself at him when she learned Jaime’s name, hadn’t expected anything more than a little conversation. 

She left him wanting to know more. 

Right now, Jaime’d like to know if she’s wearing anything under his robe. The shirt he wore last night is draped over the top of the couch, her skirt discarded on the rug. The skirt was his first clue last night was going to be different. Brienne had never worn a skirt on their dates. This one was black and lacy and ended just above her knees. Jaime could hardly keep his hands off her during dinner. 

“Are you going to lurk in the hall all morning?” Brienne asks without turning around. 

Jaime laughs. “I’m not lurking. Just admiring the view.” He goes to her, presses against her back, kisses the nape of her neck. “Is Pod running your kitchen today?”

“Dacey’s making sure he doesn’t burn the place down,” she confirms with a nervous laugh. 

Brienne plates up French toast with maple caramel sauce, strawberries, and bacon for both of them, and Jaime lets her go to pour them both coffee. 

He still can’t quite believe that she’s here, in his kitchen, in his bathrobe.

Jaime never expected that they’d get this far. He was always terrible with women, rarely getting past a first date. Jaime would like to blame it on his acerbic wit or his lack of interest in the socialites his father pushed his way, but the plain truth is that he couldn’t face telling a woman about Cersei. There really isn’t an easy way to tell your girlfriend that you lost your virginity to your twin sister, decades and hundreds of hours of therapy ago. When the time came, Jaime had broken up with every woman he’d dated rather than trust her with that secret—until Brienne.

Jaime expected tears, disgust, an order to get out and never speak to her again. What he got was stunned silence, a request for time, and the most nerve-wracking week he could remember. But she came back, and the awkwardness between them dissipated within a few weeks. Jaime felt light, unburdened for the first time in many years.

Neither of them had much free time, between Brienne training her new sous chef and Jaime prosecuting the city’s top purveyor of underage prostitutes. But no matter how busy they got, Friday nights were theirs. They explored the city, laughed, argued, made up, and kissed goodnight in the doorway of Brienne’s tiny apartment far too early for Jaime’s taste. 

Until last night. 

Across the table, Brienne eyes him over the rim of her coffee mug. “What are you thinking about?” she asks, stealing the last strawberry from his plate.

Jaime offers her his most sinful smile. “Hoping you’re not wearing anything under that robe.” 

Brienne glances down at the soft charcoal flannel with red pinstripes. A gift from his Aunt Genna years ago. “You can’t possibly find this attractive,” she scoffs, picking up their dishes and retreating to the sink. 

Jaime tries very hard not to roll his eyes. He eagerly awaits the day that Brienne doesn’t respond to a compliment by cutting herself down. Jaime knows why she does it, he’s heard the stories, and he doesn’t mind proving her wrong. 

Jaime pushes up from the table, molds himself against her back, slipping one hand inside the robe to rest against the soft skin of her stomach. “Haven’t I convinced you yet? Or do I need to make my case again?” 

“Do you have new evidence to present?” she asks, leaning against him. Brienne picked up the jargon of criminal law easily, while Jaime has only a vague understanding of cooking terminology.

He chuckles, removes his hand from the robe. “Discovery could take a while. Hard questions to answer, motions to file…” Coming up empty on further double entendres, Jaime settles for tugging her down the hall.

She smiles at him, bemused. “Been waiting a while to use that line?”

“Maybe. Is it working?” Jaime loosens the tie on her robe as they reach the bedroom, exposing pale, freckled skin, one breast, and a definite lack of underwear. This is much better than the courtroom fantasy he’d entertained during one particularly dull hearing last week.

Brienne kisses him, the taste of coffee and strawberries lingering in her mouth, then backs away until she reaches the bed. “I've still got reasonable doubts." Her gaze drops pointedly to the growing bulge in his pants. "Are you up to the challenge, counselor?"

"Oh, I'm up for it," he says, openly leering as he approaches the bed. Maybe Brienne would let him dab a bit of that caramel sauce on her so he can lick it off. But not yet. He has other plans.

Brienne’s chest is flushed, her breathing fast, her eyes bright as she watches him. 

Jaime eases the robe from her shoulders, pushes her gently down to the bed. "We’ll start with oral arguments." 

 


End file.
